


Witches (Don’t) Get Stitches

by TheShipSailsItself



Series: Charmed Reboot Whumptober 2019 [9]
Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Stitches, Whumptober 2019, emotional nonsense, whumptober 2019 stitches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2020-12-17 07:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShipSailsItself/pseuds/TheShipSailsItself
Summary: Whumptober 2019: (Late Submission) Day 11 - StitchesAn exhausted Macy and Harry go home after a hard and trying day at ‘work’.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry winces as the doctor’s needle pierces flesh and he has to look away as the thin, dark thread is pulled through. He focuses his attention on the wheels of the next bed over and takes in a deep breath, swallowing against the rise of his gorge.

Macy’s hand gives his a squeeze and he swings his gaze back to her. His wide eyed, terrified gaze locked on her smiling, beautifully serene face. He imagines he must look rather unhinged. But he’s afraid if he looks anywhere else, if he catches even the briefest glimpse of… of…

He squeezes his eyes shut and drags an unsteady breath through his nose.

“Har-” His name is cut off by the sound of a breath being sucked in between her teeth. That quiet sound of her pain, however much she may try to downplay it, may as well be a demon’s bolt. It rushes through him and a roaring takes up residence between his ears. His throat closes. His head is suddenly made of pure marble and it drops heavily to Macy’s shoulder.

“Perhaps your-” the doctor waves a blue-gloved hand at the man heaving deep breaths against Macy’s shoulder. Harry lets out an unsettling groan and the doctor’s eyes widen. “Sir? Perhaps you’d be more comfortable waiting in the lobby? Sir, I really need for you to _not throw up in my bay._”

Harry hears Macy snicker and feels her curve her uninjured arm under his chin and around his face to pat at his cheek. She turns her face into his hair and makes shushing noises into his thick hair. It makes him want to bury his face further into the skin-warmed silk of her blouse. He tries to concentrate the feel of her to block out, if only for a moment, the events that led them to this hospital.

-

They’d chased the demon into a public building and managed to vanquish it somewhere private but the chaos it had wreaked had drawn the attention of local authorities. Harry and Macy had been noticed too quickly to orb away and someone had pointed out her bleeding hand and pronounced limp. They’d been taken to the hospital where under the watchful eyes of nurses and doctors Harry had been unable to use his powers on his charge much less whisk her away unnoticed. So here they were with Macy’s ribs bound up, an ice pack on her knee and a doctor was putting his charge back together instead of him, _sewing_ her flesh back in place with wicked looking needles and gossamer faint string.

-

“Harry? It’s okay. You can go wait in the lobby. I think the doctor’s almost done here, anyways, right?” Macy looks at the doctor who shrugs while still not looking up from her task. “C’mon, Harry,” Macy says with a nudge of her shoulder against his cheek. He raises his face and his green-around-the-gills look makes her want to tease him just a little. She’s never seen him this squeamish about anything other than bugs. She never would have thought him to be this unsettled by hospitals. Though, just below that queasy look lies such guilt that the teasing words she has in mind quickly die away.

Macy remembers a conversation she and Mel had just after the ‘Manchester Incident’ as the sisters dubbed Mel and Harry’s unintentional trip to Harry’s hometown. Macy’s heart squeezes and for some insane reason she finds her head dipping down, eyes flicking between his deeply shadowed eyes and pale, down-turned lips. Oh god, maybe she does have a head injury. Sanity returns at the last possible second and she pulls back. She brushes a kiss against his cheek so light she wonders if he felt it or if she even made contact at all. But by the opened mouth shock on his face, even if he didn’t, even if _she_ didn’t, he probably got the point. “Harry, please? I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He nods dumbly and rises woodenly from the seat beside her cot. He heads dazedly in the direction of the exit turning every few steps to look back at her, the fingers of one hand tracing the spot where her lips may or may not have touched his cheek. When Harry finally disappears through a pair of thickly glazed glass doors Macy looks down to see the doctor taping down a square of gauze onto her hand.

“Let me just go put in some wound care instructions and a prescription for the pain. The nurse will bring it by with your discharge papers and if your husband’s feeling up to it he can take you home.” The last part is said with a wink and a warm smile and Macy can help but laugh a little. Her husband, the idea of it makes her face flush with heat but she doesn’t correct the doctor. Macy simply nods, repeating the doctor’s words in her head like a new favorite song as she settles in for a wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Later, much later than either had expected, Harry pulls their car into its spot well behind the hidden Vera-Vaughn-and-now-Greenwood home. He cuts the engine and quiet steals into the interior of the rapidly cooling car. The two sit in relative silence as Harry tires to find some way to apologize for how disastrously their evening has gone, some way to make up for all the ways he let her down this evening. It’s been the only thing running through his mind since the moment he was ejected from her bedside by her doctor. Her _doctor_. Someone she should never have needed had he not-

The sound of Macy’s seatbelt whirring and the car door opening tugs Harry’s thoughts away from his recent missteps and failures back to the present. He hears Macy blowing out a long, shaky breath as she swings her legs out of the cab and in a literal flash he is standing in front of Macy, hands reaching out to assist her. But his sudden appearance startles the witch. Her hand scrabbles for purchase on the edge of the seat but the heel of her palm slips off of the worn down, corduroy upholstery. She falls back onto the gearshift with a sharp cry. The yelp of pain that bursts from her lips and the sight of the gearshift striking her between her already much abused ribs rends something inside of him and Harry falls to his knees.

-

A blaze of white heat surges through her. Her breath hitches and burns somewhere at the bottom of her lungs leaving her silently screaming for air. A galaxy of stars wheels in her vision and for a solid moment the pain steals all her senses from her. But then _he__’s_ there.

_Harry._

She doesn’t know if she says it aloud but just as his name flits through her reeling mind she vaguely registers the chill of the winter night being momentarily banished by his form looming over her in the cramped cab of the car. She notes the solid feel of Harry’s arm sliding behind her shoulders and lifting her away from the console. His hands shake as he eases her to rest a shoulder against the seat. Then he’s kneeling on the muddy ground in front of her. The thought of him ruining such a deliciously form fitting pair of slacks floats through her hazy mind and she chuckles to herself. At least she thinks she laughs, though the lack of additional pain would suggest she might not have. It’s all a little confusing right now and Macy struggles to find a straight path for her thoughts. But when she feels trembling fingertips tracing a loose coil of hair at her temple and her focus shifts. 

Harry’s hand is warm and damp as it sweeps across her cheek and down along her neck. The heel of his hand exerts a gentle yet firm pressure along the line of her jaw as he directs her gaze to meet his own. His face looks just as pained as her entire body feels and he seems to be saying something but she can’t yet separate his words from the ringing in her ears.

She’s shaking her head to clear the buzzing and blurriness when suddenly he sags like a puppet with its strings cut. Macy looks down in confusion at the back of Harry’s head. She can feel his forehead pressing into the side of her uninjured knee. The pain finally recedes enough that she can make out the words whispering over her knee.

“_Please, please let me make this right. I__’m so sorry. Let me fix this._”

This time it’s Macy’s turn to lift his face, to bring his gaze to hers. Her turn to run her hand over his cheek. The stiff five-o-clock shadow rasps at her palm. She runs her thumb over his cheekbone and thinks back to those first days of knowing him when the angles of his handsome face weren’t quite so sharp. The violent upending of their lives has been nothing short of brutal to all of them. And tonight the cracks are all on full display. Macy’s younger sisters are out somewhere on opposite sides of the city, safe but probably still fuming at each other. Macy, herself, has several serious slashes to her arms on top of her four broken ribs, souvenirs of a somewhat Pyrrhic victory over what should have been a ‘low level’ demon. And now here was Harry, kneeling at her feet in the mud and sleet literally begging for forgiveness for things that aren’t by any metric any fault of his. But dawdling out here in the slowly worsening weather, she thinks to herself, isn’t going to help any of that.

Macy’s legs are starting to cramp but there isn’t enough space between Harry and herself to stand. And she needs to stand if they’re to get into the house before this winter rain freezes them both. Macy keeps her eyes locked on Harry’s as his eyes search her face for something she can’t quite guess at. She slides her hands down the sides of his neck and then gives a firm push at his shoulders. For a split second his expression is the very definition of crestfallen. But then he schools it into something blank, though not before she catches the briefest flash of embarrassment. Harry nods and shifts back. He gets up to his feet and clasps his hands behind his back, head bowed. He’s barely moved an arm’s length away but it feels like so much more and it something in Macy’s chest squeezes. 

Whatever he’s thinking, Macy can tell just from a glance that he’s getting all of it wrong. But before she can set him straight Macy knows they first need to get into the damn house. So she scoots herself further out of the door and plants her feet firmly onto the ground. She pulls in a breath and braces herself. Nothing about this next part is going to feel good. 

She stretches out her good hand out to her whitelighter while pressing her bandaged hand to her throbbing ribs. Then Macy pulls in a deep breath and calls out Harry's name. She calls Harry's name with all the purpose she can muster but tempers it as much as she can with tenderness. She calls to him not just to bring him over to lend her aid but to summon Harry out of whatever internal maelstrom of guilt and self-flagellation he’s retreated into. And sure enough his head snaps up and his eyes meet hers. Harry's hand slides into hers and she shivers at the feel of his warm fingers making contact with her chilled skin. She offers him a small smile and an apology. At that the studied blankness in his face melts away into a frown and she quickly pulls against his firm grip to lever herself out of the car. Her ribs scream in protest and she can feel the stitches in her arms and legs strain to keep from tearing apart and her wounds from reopening. But Macy shoves all of that pain down. She’s had enough of this night and what it’s done to the both of them and she wants to _go_ _home._

The moment she’s on her feet Macy feels Harry’s arms slide around her waist. The circle of his arms tightens slowly but deliberately. She’s drawn closer and closer to him until she finds herself held flush against him. Harry shuffles them into a slight turn just before the inside of his knee rises and brushes past her hip to nudge the passenger door shut. They stand there for a moment more after the echo of the door snapping shut fades away.

“Harry?” Macy calls softly into the thick woolen collar of Harry’s overcoat. But the only answer she gets is the press of his cheek at her back of her head and his arms gingerly pulling her more securely against him. Macy lifts her head to look at him but just as she’s about to say his name again she feels Harry’s magic wrap around and pull at them both as he orbs them away from the car.


	3. Chapter 3

They materialize not in the living room or even the attic but in the garden barely ten feet from the car. And while it’s not the worst ‘landing’ she’s experienced with Harry, the slight wobble as they reappear combined with the slick, dewy grass beneath their feet force Macy to brace herself on her sore leg to keep from losing her balance. She winces and straightens back up as much as she can, hands gripping at Harry’s coat for support. She hisses as a searing pain flares in her palm forcing her to let go. But before she can go tumbling down Harry’s arms shift and tighten ever so gently around her. Where a moment ago she was simply being held by Harry as means of keeping her with him as he orbed she now finds herself cradled in his embrace. If it weren’t for the chill and her desperate need for her bed Macy imagines she could stay here with him, just like this, for an eternity.

It only lasts a moment, though. Harry, pulling his face from her hair looks up and takes in their not very changed surroundings. He swears and once again his arms shift around Macy. Macy glances up and sees him squeezing his eyes shut in concentration and in the next instant feels herself yanked into and through his orb. 

This time they find themselves in at the foot of the staircase.

Again, Macy’s arms momentarily go slack around Harry’s waist. She begins to fall away from him, this time as a wave dizziness threatens to completely wash away her balance. But the dizziness lasts only for a moment before her hand once again grabs at his damp coat. A thin laugh escapes her as Macy nearly grabs at his coat with her teeth in an effort to spare Harry’s coat from the already blood soaked bandage on her injured hand.

Her forehead rests heavily on Harry’s shoulder as she fights off another wave of dizziness from the back-to-back orbing. The dizziness passes and she raises her leaden head to look at Harry. He’s gone quiet again. He’s looking up at something behind her. She follows his gaze to the spot above the balcony railing beyond which her room lies.

“Harry,” she calls to her whitelighter, keeping her voice low. “Harry, wait.”

He wants to make one more attempt to get them to her room; she can see it in his face. She feels him readjusting his hold on her for what feels like the hundredth time his hold on her, his arm tightening around her side. He’s being as gentle as ever but still it feels as if her bones are shifting under the weight of his arm. She sucks in a pained breath through her teeth. She tries but fails to contain a sharp sob and Harry jump away as if she just burst into flames.

Once again the apologies and self-recriminations start pouring from Harry lips.

“Bloody clumsy, Harry. Macy, love, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Harry, stop. I’m… I-” She takes in a breath and tries to blow the pain out with the next. “I’m okay, Harry. Listen, I’m okay.”

But he’s not listening. They’re back to where they started at the car. This time it’s not dizziness but cresting inside her but rather tears of weariness and frustration.

“And blast these bloody useless powers of mine. I can’t even get you home without hurting you.”

Harry hands land on her shoulders, his fingers cup and flex over the bone. He presses his forehead to hers.

“Damn it all, Macy. I just wanted to…” he whispers, his eyes screwed shut with his own frustration.

“Fix things. I know, Harry. I know.” Her own hand rises to cup his cheek. “And you have. And look,” she says, smiling softly at him and gesturing with her free hand at their home, “here we are. At home. Harry, we’re safe and we’re home.”

She pulls back just enough to be able to locate his down turned lips. The heel of her palm keeps his chin from sinking to his chest with a gentle but insistent pressure.

He pulls in a deep sigh and she feels him about to step away. Her fingers flex ever so slightly and his shoulders droop but ultimately he stills.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. He has something more to say but just as her name passes over his shining lips she presses her mouth to his.

_So soft._ His lips are so very, very soft, Macy thinks. His hands fall from her shoulders and land against the tops of her hips. His lips press again and again against hers, taking in her sighs in soft, delicate sips and offering up quiet, muffled groans of his own. His thumbs rub against her hipbones before he sweeps the palms of his hands up over her waist and back down to cup and press against her backside.

She feels his fingers flex against her and his arms close in a low slung embrace around her waist, taking care to not touch her sore ribs. Oh, this sweet, stubborn, _ridiculous_ man. Pressed as closely as she is to him, Macy can feel the way his power hums weakly through his body as he prepares himself for yet another attempt at orbing. So damn _stubborn_.

“Harry,” she calls to him once she manages to break the seal between their lips. She keeps her hand on his face and uses her palm to lift his chin and her thumb against his lips to forestall his search for another kiss. “We can make it up a flight of stairs, can’t we?”

He utters a breathless affirmative before parting his lips to nip at the pad of her thumb. Macy feels a hand leave her hip to pull her own away from his face, pressing a kiss to her fingers as he does so. With a small, almost shy smile he seeks out her lips for one more kiss then steps quickly to her side, positioning himself so she can hold on to the banister with her good hand as they ascend the staircase.


	4. Chapter 4

As it turns out a flight of steps is just about all that Macy can manage, the fact of which is made crystal clear as they pause at the landing between the floors. Macy struggles to not to start crying at the sight of the second flight. And she had called _him_ stubborn, she thinks, laughing darkly at herself. Oh god, definitely a night of regretful decisions and bad victories.

It’s Macy’s turn to offer apology after apology as Harry half-carries her up the last steps from the landing. She’s slumped heavily against the Whitelighter and can’t help but hiss as his arm pushes her more firmly against his chest. By the time they reach the little corridor to her room Macy’s forehead is dotted with sweat and her breathing harsh. She leans back against the wall opposite her door and lets it do the job of keeping her standing. Her eyes are closed and the comforting scent of him surrounds her. Macy takes a deep breath and lets Harry’s scent fill her lungs, the faint trace of his aftershave and sharp notes of the wintry outdoors doing more to distract her from her aches and injuries than any drug. 

She hears him shuffle closer and his breath tickles her ear. She can just imagine how they might look to an outside observer, her with her eyes shut and back against the wall and Harry practically leaning into her, arm braced next to her head; a handsome man bent on seduction and a woman feeling more receptive than not. Macy feels his lips brush the shell of her ear just as his hand slides under her coat, skimming over her side and coming to rest feather light just under her breast. She hums appreciatively at the warmth of his touch. His hand is so warm and lovely and she feels better already-

Macy sighs and rolls her eyes under her closed lids. So, not so much a seduction as a distraction. She wraps a hand around his wrist and tugs his hand sharply away from her.

“Knock it off, Harry. That’s enough.”

“Dammit, Macy. You are _hurting_.”

“And _you_ can barely stay on your feet. You are _exhausted._”

“I am perfectly capable of-”

“How many tries did it take you to get us into the house?”

Harry mumbles and Macy struggles to catch his words but she gets the gist. The stubborn idiot is _still_ arguing with her. He’s leaning just as heavily against the wall as she is, body crowding her as he strains to stay upright and he still won’t give goddamn an inch.

“You’re _not_ fine. It is _entirely_ the point. And I am telling you to _knock it the **fuck** off_.”

They both flinch at her tone. That wasn’t what she meant or at least not how she meant to say it. Macy takes in a deep breath and pushes down her frustrations with a prolonged, purposeful exhale. Her ribs still ache but the sharp pain of simply breathing is significantly lessened, damn him. She lays her palm gently against his cheek and traces her thumb over the dampness of his upper lip. She rests her lips against his and he leans into the kiss. It doesn’t so much feel like passion as much as an inability to hold himself upright. Not exhausted, her ass.

“Tomorrow,” she whispers, letting her lips glide over his. “The meds are finally kicking in and _this_,” she brings his hand back to her ribs, “this helped. _You_ helped me. The rest can wait until tomorrow, I promise.”

“First thing tomorrow. The very first,” he insists.

“Absolutely.” 

Seemingly mollified, Harry busses a kiss against her cheek and turns to open her door, ushering her through with his arm once again around her waist.

-

He’d mended what little he could during their small rest in front of her bedroom door, but Harry can tell that there is still so much to be healed. His senses still ache for having bumped up against her near overwhelming soreness. He can sense, if not outright feel, the sting and pull of her many, many stitches and the throbbing of her still fractured ribs ghosting throughout his own body. And yet she refuses his aid again and again. Frustration wars with a rising dread that his usefulness to his Charmed Ones is quickly becoming a thing of the past.

“Harry,” her voice, a soft and cool balm against his darker thoughts, draws him out of his reverie. They’re stood next to her bed and when he looks down he sees a somewhat pained frown turning down her lips as she struggles to remove her heavy outer coat. He steps in close and helps to work the garment down over her arms. He closes his eyes against the small whimpers she makes as the movement of the sleeves disturb the sewn flesh of her arms.

After a minute or two of painstakingly careful maneuvering Macy is free and Harry is holding the damp wool in his hands. He scans her room and frowns. He ought to have done this earlier when they were still by the stairs. Where-

“Door of the closet, Harry. Just hang them over the bags.”

“Them?” he asks, confused but she merely tugs at his own damp lapel. Ah. And before he can think of why he feels the need to protest he’s slipped off his coat and is hanging it beside hers on the sturdy hooks on the back of her closet door. He runs a hand down the sleeve of her coat and for just the tiniest moment indulges himself in the sight of their two coats side by side.

When he turns back to her she’s seated herself on the chest at the end of her bed. Her head is tilted up and her eyes are closed. She rolls her shoulders and neck, her fatigue practically flowing off of her in veritable waves. She looks so tired and yet, selfishly, her upturned face is almost too much for him to resist. He licks at his lips and forces him to turn back to her closet. He asks her where he might find something for her to change into and she directs him to the second drawer in a chest at the back of the closet.

He comes out with two sets of black pajamas, one clearly not hers. She shrugs at his raised eyebrow, her smile soft and impish.

"Must have forgotten to put it in your basket. It's over there,” Macy says, looking pointedly at three baskets full of folded clothes by her vanity. Several days earlier, in a fit of frustration and grief over the loss of yet another young witch, Macy had spent her ‘day off’ washing every stray bit of laundry in the Manor, Harry’s included.

“You can bring it up tomorrow,” she tells him as she slips on her pajamas, watching him -_admiring, even-_ as he walks towards the basket of what were obviously his clothes and bends to place his nightclothes atop the large pile. She hears him snort at her suggestion, still not turning around as he fiddles with the rest of the neatly folded garments.

"Tomorrow? Macy, honestly, there isn’t a stitch left in this house for you to wash much less add to these piles. Surely they are ready to be put away. So, why on earth wouldn’t I take them now?"

"Because I was hoping you might stay here with me tonight?"

Harry freezes. Even in the dim light of the room the flush that spreads over his cheeks is more than noticeable. The burn of holding it in is too much and Macy lets out a barely snort of laughter.

"_Macy_," he says placatingly, directing his words towards the laundry. "You need your rest."

"_Harry_," she says with just a bit of gentle mocking in her soft tone. "this isn't some sort of proposal." 

He's not saying anything but she can see those damn gears turning, see him searching for reasons why he can't let himself have this despite his obvious want for it. She slips off the bed, ignoring the soreness in her legs and feet to make her way to him.

"Think of it this way," she offers quietly while taking his shoulder and pulling him up to stand. With a tug of her hand she draws him closer to her bed. "If, like you said, the first thing you want to do tomorrow morning is heal me," she turns them and pushes him until he is seated on her bed. Her fingers pluck at the buttons of his shirt, "then first thing in the morning when you open your eyes I'll be right there. Here. With you."

She sucks a sharp breath in through her teeth as her hand starts to cramp and the stitches pull at her movements. Harry takes her bandaged hand and lays it against his cheek. He keeps his eyes trained on hers as he turns his head and presses his lips into her palm, she can feel a rising warmth through the bandages.

"Harry... we said-"

"Please? Just this last one."

Those tired, green eyes shine up at her and she knows she shouldn’t let him. But she’s weak. _Just so damn weak_, Macy thinks to herself as she finds herself nodding and watching as the space between his lips and her hand fills with a muted glow.

It’s only after he’s slipped under the cool sheets and pressed himself against her back, arm wound loosely around her waist that Macy finally feels like this horrible night might actually be drawing to a close. She concentrates on the cool feel of his nose under her ear and soft puffs of air caressing her throat and soon enough she’s lost to the wondrous nothingness of-

“_First_ thing in the morning.”

“Yes, Harry. _*yawn*_ First thing...”

_-sleep._

**Author's Note:**

> ...lockdown productivity?! a real, live minor miracle...


End file.
